


It's the intent behind it

by capfrye



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Discussions of death and moral dilemmas, Gen, Parental death (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 10:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15683883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capfrye/pseuds/capfrye
Summary: The siege of Lordaeron was a military disaster, the first strategic mistake in Anduin's tenure as king, and the losses weigh heavily on his mind. Among them all, however, lies an even heavier burden  –  and the young Wrynn must bear it; after all, it is what a king must do.





	It's the intent behind it

**Author's Note:**

> Because I needed to get this out of my system. Enjoy the angst.
> 
> Originally posted onto a writing sideblog, hence the fancier formatting.

**FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES,** the siege of Lordaeron had been a military disaster. No, perhaps that was too strong a word, brought about by Anduin’s acute sense of guilt. His return to Stormwind had been an uneasy trip fraught with doubt and excessive thinking, all accompanied by the cold knot of dread Anduin’s stomach had all but twisted into. This was his first failure in his tenure as king, a blunder of significant caliber: he had underestimated Sylvanas. While it would have been nothing to shake off as if nothing, had Sylvanas one-upped him in a political matter, Anduin would have vowed to do better, to take apart her cunning strategy and even _learn_ from her. That would have been easy; he had learned as much from Shaw. Lordaeron hadn’t been politics, however, but _war_ – one that Anduin had tried his utmost to avoid, but war nonetheless. War, as it happened, had one particular quality: it was _ruthless_. It allowed no room for mistakes, not when one of them could cost a dozen lives. The battle of Lordaeron had cost the Alliance _hundreds_.  
  
**REALISTICALLY, HE COULDN’T BLAME** himself for his inexperience. He had always been fated to walk a different path than that of the Alliance’s heroes, that of is father, but the matter of sovereignty and his very heritage had thrust Anduin into a role shaped by the times he lived in. And yet despite it all, despite knowing that he had done everything in his power to succeed in their endeavor, Anduin still blamed himself for every lost life, every injured soldier, every family torn apart by an irreplaceable loss. The weight of his decisions was nobody's but his own to bear and to some, that would be enough. Anduin, however, would take it upon himself to grieve with the rest of his people and would accept any blame they wished to place upon his shoulders – if they even wanted to. It would only be fair that he share in their pain, for he was the one that brought it upon them .  
  
**SLEEP DID NOT COME** easy that night, not even after reverent prayer, and so in the late hours of the night, Anduin walked to the one place in Stormwind city where he could, perhaps ironically enough, find a measure of peace: Lion’s Rest, his father’s cenotaph. The very air seemed to hold the strength and vivacity Varian himself had held in life, and within minutes Anduin felt his heart beat more easily. The stress his muscles held had yet to ebb away, the pain in his bones had yet to cease, and still Anduin felt like he would soon heal. Such was the effect his father still had on him, even in death: Varian Wrynn still gave his son hope, and his strength was still Anduin’s to take comfort in. Anduin rested his hand upon the cold marble of the cenotaph, willing his thoughts to stillness.  
  
         “You’re the last person that should be awake now.” Genn Greymane’s voice pulled Anduin out of his reverie, and he turned to face the Gilnean. Exhaustion was clearly drawn all over Genn’s features, digging deep into the lines of his face as if attempting to make short work of the worgen’s strength – an endeavor at which it was failing, as Genn’s countenance remained as steady as it always had been.  
  
**ANDUIN NEARLY SMILED AT** the light-hearted reproach but the strength to do so had not yet returned to him. “And still, I am.” Upon realizing that his hand still lay upon the cenotaph, Anduin quickly removed it as though part of him were afraid to hear Genn comment on it. To his relief, no such remark ever came. “Neither of us should be awake and yet here we are.” Fear did grip his heart when he heard his own voice: small, young, _boyish_ ; a reminder of the life he had yet to live and the experience he had yet to acquire. Anduin cleared his throat as discreetly as possible, hoping to dispel the shakiness he knew would creep into his voice any moment now.  
  
          “What troubles you, my lord?” Just a few months ago, it had been _my boy_. Impressive, how times had changed so quickly.  
  
          “A lot of things. Too many for my taste.” His thoughts returned and as if on cue, so did the _ache_ in Anduin’s chest. What he wouldn’t give to get rid of it but alas, it was a pain that had come to stay, to make a home for itself in his heart and live with him for the rest of his days. “Our recent... _endeavor_ in Lordaeron, for one.”  
  
          **GENN APPROACHED SLOWLY, ENOUGH** to close some of the distance between them while leaving a respectful space between himself and Varian’s cenotaph. “As I expected,” he said ruefully, but there was a matter-of-fact note in his voice that Anduin could not ignore. Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that Genn would take the luxury to speak as if he knew Anduin: the past few months had seen them in each other’s company far more often than any other year before, and had thus granted them both enough chances to guess (always politely, of course) as to what lay inside their hearts. “We underestimated her. She led us _right_ to where she wanted us to be, and we–”  
  
**BEFORE THE RISING IRE** in Genn’s tone could even threaten to steer the conversation down an unwanted path, Anduin raised a hand. “It was a failure, plain and simple. I should have known better than to believe it would be as easy as the chase Sylvanas led us on – and if Jaina hadn’t shown up when she did, there would have been _no_ chase at all and we wouldn’t be speaking as we are right now.” He may have attempted to quell Genn’s anger but of course he had done so at the expense of his own. Anduin quickly called upon the Light, taking a steadying breath and releasing it slowly. “ _I_ led the assault, _I_ made the mistake – but somehow, that isn’t what troubles me most tonight.”  
  
**GENN’S SILENCE WAS ENOUGH** for Anduin to continue, but words now escaped him. He allowed his head to lower, his eyes to close and his mind to reminisce. Soon after returning to Stormwind, Anduin had assisted priests and healers with their duties, doing as much as humanly possible for the affected. As he spoke with the injured and cooperated with several night elven refugees that had offered to help, he had come across a soldier – a veteran of the second war and the woman that would shake his world likely for many months to come. The young king nearly shuddered at the recollection, and suppressing the urge to somehow spurred him to speak.  
  
          “While I was out helping the injured, one of our soldiers stopped me to talk. She was part of the initial assault on Lordaeron and was one of the fallen that I… resurrected.” The shudder now wracked Anduin’s form from head to toe, but he was careful enough to hide it. He heard Genn shift his weight, his breath change as he sighed. “Genn, you’re not going to like what I’m about to ask you.”  
  
**ANDUIN LOOKED UP JUST** in time to see the Gilnean uncross his arms: good, that meant he was open to the question, or at least getting ready for it. “You’ve never been one for cryptic warnings, Anduin. Out with it now.”  
  
          “Do you think I’m any better than Sylvanas?”  
  
**AS EXPECTED, GENN’S REACTION** was immediate. His face all but contorted in outrage, as if Anduin’s words were the gravest of insults. “How can you compare yourself to that wretch?! You, High King of the Alliance, questioning yourself like this?” Anduin would give no response to Genn’s abrasive line of questioning, and soon the worgen fell into a stunned silence as he visibly considered anduin’s question further. “Anduin–”  
  
          “We look upon the Forsaken as if they’re cursed, as if they’re _things_ to be hated rather than people, and we scorn Sylvanas for what she does to the dead – but how is that any different from what I did on the battlefield today?” A tidal wave of sorrow, anger and grief washed over Anduin, plunging him into depths so dark he feared he would not escape them, but there was nothing that could calm him now. “That veteran among the resurrected? She told me I should have left her to _die!_ The siege was her swan song, her last stand alongside the Alliance! We accuse Sylvanas of pulling the dead from their rest against their will, but did _I_ ask that veteran if she wanted to be brought back? Did _I_ have the chance to? How many would have–?”  
  
**HIS DESPAIR RISING IN** magnitude, Anduin now felt frantic, trying desperately to fight against the emotions that nearly threatened to choke him. Eyes wide, he looked at Genn, who had stepped even closer now and practically stood in front of him. “ **You**! You were among those I resurrected!” Anduin continued, voice shaking, “so what’s the difference between you and one of Sylvanas’ Forsaken? How can we call the latter _undead_ but say that _you_ are alive?! How could we say the same about _my father_?!”  
  
          **THE FROWN THAT HAD** begun to form on Genn’s face vanished almost immediately at the mention of Varian. Anduin swallowed past the knot in his throat. He would not break: not here, not now, not in front of Genn. “It was during Remembrance Day, five years ago. He told you, didn’t he?”  
  
**THE ONLY RESPONSE ANDUIN** received was a nod.  
  
          “That’s when I used that ability for the first time: to resurrect my father, because I couldn’t let him go. Should I have–?” His voice faltered, but only momentarily. “Should I not have done it? What if he was ready? I could have spared him from his death at the Broken Shore, I could have let him see my mother again – but I _didn’t_. I took that away from him, Genn. And now, how many people have I kept from their families and their loved ones today? How many had made their peace, only for me to take that away from them too?”  
  
          “How many families have you saved today, Anduin?” Genn’s question was unexpectedly kind and yet somehow serene, and once again he proved to be a balance to Anduin’s insecurities. Anduin opened his mouth to retort but Genn had not yet finished. “Every soldier you aided belongs to a family: they’re someone’s son, daughter, husband or wife – and if they survived today, it’s because of _you_.” Genn Greymane had never been an eloquent man, preferring actions over words, but Anduin could tell he spoke true and genuine. Still, more questions lingered in the back of the young king’s mind.  
  
          “Don’t you think that’s also the case among the Forsaken? Maybe not families, but _friends_? How many are now reunited under Sylvanas’ banner? How does that change anything?”  
  
          “The only difference is the **_intent_** behind it.”  
  
**AN ANSWER TO HIS** earlier question. Anduin would take it for what it was: a simple reassurance meant to stop this conversation in its tracks, perhaps even an attempt to put Anduin at ease. It wasn’t enough to quell the unrest within him, but it did bring silence about. Anduin stared, feeling helpless, into Genn’s eyes before allowing his shoulders to fall, his head to hang, and grief to overtake him.  
  
**ANDUIN WOULD REMEMBER LITTLE** of the rest of the night. Whether the conversation continued from then on, Anduin wasn’t sure, and the walk back to the keep was a blur. Only back in his quarters, behind closed doors, would Anduin break and allow his walls to collapse and his tears to fall.  
  
**EVERY SURVIVOR WOULD MOURN** their respective dead tonight , but Anduin would mourn every lost soul and add their weight to the one he already bears. After all, carrying such burdens is but one of the many things a king must do.


End file.
